The Dreaming
by Magic After Midnight
Summary: Of course they were out in the woods. They knew they oughtn't; that it was precarious at the best of times, implacably fatal the worst, and perilous every other Tuesday. The woods were dark and deadly, with all the usual fatigues as well as this one's great raven more than keen for their young, tender flesh. It was all in good sport, a game. Where's the fun without the threat?
1. The Lost Boy

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, even criticism****.**

He didn't know where he was; he didn't know who he was. He kept wandering on all the same as if getting further lost in unknown territory would some how elucidate both those elusive facts for him. But this directionless rambling led him stumbling not into his memory but in view of a nice, white manor with some beautiful bit of cultivated wilderness, much like some feral sort of garden, and a long, grand table set out eloquently for at least thirty for tea. The close juxtaposition of the savage and civilized in such sharp relief to one another made him forget his more pressing troubles all together. He gawked.

At the table were all sorts of tea things, all hideously mismatched and yet vaguely complimentary to the lovely chaos of scenery. The chairs were also of contrasting appearance, some completely unsuitable for such outside entertainment without the cover of a tent and others seeming unsuitable for bearing any weight at all. The best of it was the treats: the most decadent, delicate, and delicious pastries and sandwiches were amply provided and displayed to much advantage. This made it all the more curious that there was no one partaking, or even any guest present at the party at all. The only individual aside from himself was a tall, lean woman—in no way unattractive—with pleasing limbs, decent build, graceful neck, and soft angular face set with short, pixie-like hair who was dressed about the torso in men's dress shirt and vest and about the hips in women's flounce skirt. She stood, in the very center of the table across from him, behind and with a very pretty hand on one of those grand unsuitable-for-being-out-of-doors sofa chairs pulled out just enough to be inviting, as if asking him to please sit and make himself comfortable.

She had a clever little smile as she greeted warmly, expectantly, "Hello Morpheus."

Of course he couldn't be sure, but there was something wrong with that name. He was sure it could not possibly be his, and yet she continued to smile and as he had no other to go by, he smiled rather shyly back, making his way towards the lady and the seat she held out for him especially. He felt pity no one seemed to have come to her little party and could not fathom declining her invitation on that head. Besides, he knew innately he took pleasure in tea and the temptation of the delicacies was more than his search for his identity and whereabouts could entice away from.

He took his seat with only the smallest measure of reluctance and glanced back at his hostess to see if she too would be seated. But she would not be seated. Instead, she was busying herself with a good length of rope which she rapidly wound about his person and the chair, so tight he felt shocked at the young lady's strength. She leaned down to grab a kettle from off the table when in the same motion she breathed venomously in his ear, "You are not welcome here, Morpheus."

And he fell unconscious as she banged him smartly over the head.


	2. Alice

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, even criticism****.**

He woke with a headache, and no wonder with the force she applied to his skull by use of tea kettle. His head swam as different ranges of piercing ringings prevailed within his ear, echoing hauntingly like shriekings in a cave. Unfortunately, the acquired injury proved insufficient to jolt his memory in regards towards his identity. Still completely in the dark, he came to the realization he truly was in the dark and groggily to the conclusion that he ought to open his eyes. His lids fluttered a little helplessly, the sudden exposure to light not quite ameliorating his migraine. As his eyes adjusted to the light, his ears adjusted to the piercing ringing noise and made out a voice holding much the same quality. It was the lady, his assailant. He was no longer outside, tied to a rather comfortable chair but lying on his side upon cold marble-tiled flooring which he rightly assumed belonged to the inside of the manor. The woman was chastising austerely, "What have you done this time, Alice?"

And there she was like an angel in the room. Long, wavy flowing gold hair falling like a cascading waterfall to her mid-back; large, dark chocolate coloured eyes; round sweet doll's face with the faintest pink lips; and a small yet feminine figure—curved without seduction, adorable without childishness—all became this fair beauty his entranced eyes beheld come trippingly down the hall, clearly anxious and upset. Her voice was not artificially high like a little girl's—very much of a timbre belonging to that of a young lady—yet held the same fearful tones, as if afraid of discipline. "Please, Mad, I don't know what you mean. What have I done?"

"You brought _this_ here."

Those melting eyes fell across his bound figure then back frightenedly towards her accuser. "But Mad, I couldn't have. I mean, I most certainly didn't. You know I could hardly bring someone here. Oh, _who is he_? How did he get here at all?"

"It had to have been you, Alice. No one else comes and goes. None else is permitted such luxury." Mad glares at her suspiciously, demanding. "Give me your key, Alice."

Alice fussed about where she stood, like a startled bird far too nervous to stay perched and simply waiting for any sudden movement to make excuse and take flight. She pleaded anxiously, "Oh Mad, you couldn't possibly. Please don't take it away from me. _Please_."

"Stop begging and just hand it to me. I'll give it right back to you." And Mad held out her hand expectantly, eyes locked and hard on the nervous young woman. Alice was now quickly rummaging about her person, searching for the key. After a mere second of not coming by it, her sweet little face showed all her apprehension, bewilderment, and terror. Mad clucked her tongue knowingly.

She didn't have it.

"It's not here. It's not _here, _Mad. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It's not _here_, Mad! What's become of it?" And she continued to check herself for pockets as if by franticly feeling about she just might come across it after all.

But as soon as Mad had demanded a key, he had noticed: there was something cold and hard in his right pants pocket, pressing roughly into his leg as he laid on the marble surface. He hadn't noticed, nor had they, that he had managed to sit upright with the time it took for this little drama to unfold before him, as though the movement had been merely instinctual. He felt fear, afraid for the pretty young lady all worked up into such agitation and fretting that she was to be punished. He spoke up in desperation, as if to save her from some terrible fate.

"Please. It's here. It's right here in my pants pocket."

The look in Mad's eyes appeared as though this only confirmed her worst suspicions. Alice was startled and looked as if she wanted to begin but wasn't quite sure how.

"I- Well, I- I suppose I must of lost it. And he found it. And used it in the door. And that's how he came about here. Oh dear." She bit the edge of her lower lip.

And then the unimagined happened. Mad sighed. The strange tyrannical creature sighed as if in capitulation, walking past Alice down the hall towards what could only have been an exit, handing Alice as she did so a small knife. "Well, he's your responsibility then. _You_ watch him."

Alice turned about after her, calling out, "But where are you going?"

"To Heart Court, of course. You said Hatter and Hare and Dormouse are being held in the dungeons to await execution, didn't you?"

And she strolled out elegantly and ever so gracefully, he had to be sure the regal young woman departing was the same brutish fiend who gave his head a good whack and terrified the poor little maiden out of her wits.


	3. Of Smiles and Knives

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, even criticism****.**

There was something unsettling about here, he found. It had to do with the blatant contradictions of the place, such as the incongruence of the tea party, the brooding menace of the garden, and the way the angelic Alice stood rather uncertainly, staring intently on the knife clutched tight in her soft little hands. The picture couldn't be more at odds with its self. At last she turned to face him, still so unsure. Yet she took a step towards him, and another, and another, all the while her hands trembling, setting light ablaze upon the instrument, dancing dangerously—threateningly—along the tip of the blade She pointed this towards him as she slowly approached.

He'd have cried out, pleaded her to leave off, to spare his life as well as her pure self. As though his blood on her hands was only heinous in that it would stain her. He would have cried out had he not been in utter disbelief at the events all together. This small, fragile, quaking creature could not be capable of such violence, in any degree imaginable. And yet slowly, deftly, steadily, she drew nearer with the tip aimed downward, drawing level with his chest. He could not fathom her capable, yet still. Still. Not sure if he'd always been a romantic, he saw it somewhat fitting where she planned to thrust: _she'd already pierced his heart_.

So as the blade that more than perceptively shook came teasingly at his breast, he let his eyes fall shut then took what he felt would be his final look at the lovely lady who was to do him in. In a swift, albeit unsteady, motion, she flicked the blade upward and his binds broke, rope snapping as if they were just string. The instrument indeed must have been a marvelous one if quavering hands could do so much. He shuddered at the thought of what affect the more capable ones might wrought of the lady who was already so accomplished with a tea kettle.

Alice, having done what she set out to do, immediately dropped the knife and took a sudden hop away from where it fell in a clatter upon the floor, staring at it with such abject horror as though she had instead dropped a staff which had turned serpent in her hand and now slithered away across the cool marble.

He wanted to thank her, to commend her on her bravery, to swear undying fealty to the trembling hands he saw as his salvation. He wanted to, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he questioned, "Are you sure?"

Before she could respond, at that precise moment the entrance doors flew open with a bang, giving the two quite a start, and Mad stepped gingerly in, saying rather absently, "Oh, and Alice? You might want to be careful of that one there. He seems to have gotten a crush on you." And without further ceremony, she turned back out again, shutting the doors again a little more gently behind her.

There was a pause pregnant with silence. He then looked at Alice who glanced rather sheepishly, and oh so becomingly, back at him. He finally ventured aloud, "Do you think she noticed?"

Alice looked rather quizzically at him, as if to make out his meaning, then thoughtfully at the fallen ropes. She answered readily, "Oh yes, I believe she did. She must have. Mad notices everything, you know."

"And you're sure you won't be punished? For not finishing me like she wanted?"

She cried out defensively, "Oh, heavens, no! Mad didn't want to harm you. She isn't lethal."

He rubbed his head-wound gingerly, instinctively. "Really now?"

Alice looked somewhat embarrassed as if she knew precisely to what he referred. "Oh, well, Mad you see is just a spot-" and she twirled a tilted finger towards her head, catching her golden waves playfully in the motion, making the act far more sensual than intended.

"Violent?" he suggested eagerly. "Stark raving mad?"

"_Unsettled_. It's only every now and again that she shifts moods and throws tea parties."

"I noticed that."

"Oh literally, you know. She tosses the tables and throws the tea things."

"The lack of guests. That would explain it."

"But, you know, she is _very_ pretty."

She spoke this as if it was all that really mattered about a person and he had half a mind to contradict her when it struck him that it was the same measure by which he had judged her. Finding it impossible to retract his initial view of either young lady, he commented instead, "_You're_ very pretty."

Her face made such a particular expression for the briefest moment as though to blush but altered quickly to a laugh instead, belittling, "Oh, you'll get used to it before long. All the girls here are handsome. But my personal favourite has always been Mad. She's special though."

"How, pray tell, is she special?"

Alice laughed once more, a light playful sound. "Oh, we all need her. She supplies our Ups and Downs here. We couldn't get by without her, you know."

A dark, haunting image of Mad as a shadow ruler of the underworld, the only dealer in this inimitably queer place, flooded his imagination and immediate perception. It fitted his view of her nicely. "So then, what is to be done with me?"

"I think I am going to have to keep a watch on you."

He grinned. "I'd liked that."

Alice responded with a small one of her own. "You know? I think I would too."

And so he fell in love with her smile.


	4. Mad

Mad was just out of doors, leaning lazily against the frame with her ear laid gently upon the cool mahogany. Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse were all interned in the dungeon towers somewhere, awaiting execution. Alice had told her. As Mad had hauled the unconscious body of the boy just as far as the antechamber, Alice had burst in in such a state of panic, relaying it all with great animation that often overcame her in moments of great anxiety until cut short by her final notice of the restrained and Mad's livid countenance. Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse were to die. There was to be no trial for them, fair, fixed, or otherwise. The tempestuous queen was forever impatient to let the heads roll. Fitting as she lost her own so frequently. As the three awaited their inevitable deaths in the dank darkness, Mad lingered outside the entry with little vexation, alacrity, or sense of immediacy.

Her mind was more pleasantly engaged with the thought of little Alice and her ardent fear of the dagger so casually placed in those delicate gentle hands. Mad was very much conscious that would frighten the dear a good deal, do such a number on her poor nerves, but she was such a diversion when worked up into a fret. Mad had handed her the knife merely on the account of making Alice uncomfortable, no more. And perhaps because she also was already quite acquainted with Alice's diffident nature and so knew how long those timid fingers would take in undoing the boy's restraints. So as the three she had set off meaning to save sat sorrowfully in prison, she persisted in putting off her departure. Time didn't reside here, so she had all the time in the world.

Time. A slow sigh escaped her moist lips with such fervent longing. Yearning hit her even less frequently than the bouts of madness. It was somewhat pleasant, the gut-wrenching desire to possess something that isn't yours to have. Then it struck her. _Alice_. She had left little Alice with _him_, Morpheus, and hadn't thought anything of it other than teasing the poor girl. But she had noticed; noticed how the young man had reacted to Alice's presence, noted how his eyes had refused to leave her form, discerned how his first words were spoken in defense of the frightened girl. She'd left her with _that_. With a formidable show of strength Mad hurled the doors ajar, sending them crashing into the walls, and took a single step onto the threshold.

It had only been a second since she'd stepped out and took to leaning. That was the problem with Time not being there; time never passed right. Only a second gone behind the other side of those doors and already the reticent Alice had crossed the vestibule and freed the young gentleman from his binds, rope lying lifeless on the floor beside her knife. And there he was, still kneeling there before her, intently gazing up at her with such admiration till the noise had called his attention away.

_Morpheus_.

To everyone's surprise, including her own, she remarked offhandedly, as if remembering something inconsequential but perhaps worth publicizing regardless, "Oh and Alice? Might want to be careful with that one there. He seems to have gotten a crush on you." Taken quite a fancy to Alice it would seem, that Morpheus. And without any more explanation than that, Mad turned about and decidedly set out towards Heart Castle, closing the doors a little more gently than she had previously opened them upon the two lovers. If not now, soon to be. It'd all come in time.

Time.

As soon as she left the grounds of the extensive estate she could feel it, deep in her bones. Time was passing differently, properly. She could feel it coursing through her blood, in the lag of the journey, and in the way she just didn't simply arrive at her destinations seemingly instantaneous and yet entering it long after or even prior to when the minimal exertion was put forth. But arrive she did and with all the usual clamor that accompanied these rare proceedings. Without the faintest hesitation or pause, she burst through the castle entrance unceremoniously, utterly disregarding the guards and pushing along passed them as if she belonged of rank to rival royalty and dismiss the presence of any lower standings all together. She stormed down halls like an avenging angel, soldiers found inadequate to detain this driving force.

At last she came upon the great throne room, doors thrown aside as easily as a pack of cards. She made her way with the subsequent ruckus of all the teaming guards pursuing her and took a stand immediate in the presence of all the court and Her Majesty, Anne VIII—embodiment of ungovernable passion; violent, authoritative, dominant, explosive; an ancient Fury clothed in human flesh—Queen of Hearts. Standing her ground as center of the grand hall, all eyes, and attention, Mad produced the most elegant mock curtsy.

"Your Majesty." Her eyes flashed venomously, familiarly, straight into those of the Queen. "Anne. _We need to talk_."

The dungeon door swung inward with a hollow groan, as if in protest or perhaps merely yawning after a long nap of neglect. They could be discerned all huddled together in the farthest corner, cowering against the sudden concentrated immersion light marking their imminent demise. Mad grinned maliciously at the sight of their terror.

"Alright boys, you're sprung."

At first the three hesitated, as if they couldn't place the voice or comprehend the words. But in the matter of a moment's revelation, they were all up and scrambling to their feet and towards her and the light that now meant their freedom. Hatter knelt as he kissed her hand, Hare leaned in to peck her cheek appreciatively, and Dormouse kept in between the others as if to slip out just in time if it were to prove too good to be true. Followed with the compliment of an accompaniment of guards, Mad escorted them from the premises, stopping as soon as their retinue had turned back and they were found outside the castle and away from curious ears, demanding suddenly as was her want, "Alright, where's DumDee?"

The sorry lot looked taken aback.

"Now don't act stupid or dare think I am. If the Tweedle Twins weren't involved in this, I'll eat his hat." At which she had gestured towards Hatter.

Hatter was aghast. "You most certainly will _not_! It's top quality, my best stock. You'd owe me a great deal!"

Mad smiled, prompting the other two to tremble and Hatter to gulp furiously. "Oh, we're to talk debt now, is it? And in whose favor do you think the scale is tipped?" Hatter at this dark reminder timidly took a step back. She continued in the same pleasantly suggestive voice. "Way I see it at present, I just purchased your lives. On top of all else, you boys now owe me your heads, yet you deny me those silly things you keep on them. That it?" Silence. "So. I'll ask again. _Where are they?_"


	5. Miscreants and Mischeif

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, even criticism****.**

Of course they were out in the heart of the woods. They knew they oughtn't be, that it was precarious at the best of times, implacably fatal at the worst, and perilous almost every other Tuesday. The woods were hardly safe for anyone, let alone youthful boys of an age of either seven or twelve (but, mind, none those years found between). The woods were dark and deadly, one becoming easily lost without the slightest hope of rescue, left to suffer all the fatigues of usual forests as well as the prowling beasts of this particular one. Once more, they were very much acquainted with the verity of the great raven that scoured above the trees, blotting out the sun with its inky mass and casting the forest in dense shadow with the span of its massive wings, always wary of unwitting prey below, more than keen to thrust its beak into their young, tender flesh. It was all in good sport, a game. Where's the fun without the threat? Of course they were out deep in the middle of the wood.

The Tweedle Twins were in the midst of a grand battle betwixt themselves, their pet rattlesnake coiled comfortably on a nearby boulder, basking in the warmth of a straggling ray of sunshine slipping through the branches of an overhead oak. The boys might as well been dancing with blades flashing like liquid silver fire in their hands for all the sinister and macabre beauty the scene provided, the blood-thirsty pastime proving morbidly picturesque. Mad never had to bother attempting to tell the identical twins apart as the rest of the world was encumbered to do. As soon as the children spotted her approaching form, they dropped their swords, discontinuing their contest instantly, and hastened into her arms, embracing her like a motherly figure or a much beloved elder sister. Mad smiled tenderly, tilting the one on her left's head down to kiss his forehead and the one on her right's up to leave a soft peck on his mouth. Both whimpered in protest.

"Mad, why did you kiss Dum on the forehead and not me? Do you like him better, Mad?"

"Mad, why did Dee get to taste your lips but you just brush my forehead? Is he your favorite, Mad?"

This is why she never bothered to tell them apart; jealousy succeeded in doing where all else failed. Mad ignored their queries, skipping right into her own.

"Were you two just about to kill each other scarcely a moment ago?"

The boys grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Dee spoilt my new rattle," Dum rationalized matter-of-factly. "Gave him our last cough-sweet, he did."

"Looked like he had a sore throat," Dee justified in similar stoic manner. "It just swallowed a whole rat, body bulging. Of course it'd look like it was sore. And Dum spoilt him first by feeding him my pet rat anyhow."

Mad frowned. "Now Dee, you'll poison the creature if you keep feeding it those things, and you won't be coming by another one. Dum, don't feed your brother's pets to yours; it's unbecoming. But more importantly now boys: what nasty pranks have you been pulling today? You got those fellows into more than a spot of trouble and it took me pulling a lot of my intricately placed strings to get their lives spared, so you need to tell me why I just wasted some good favors on your antics."

"Oh Mad, don't be cross," Dee inveigled, hugging her arm while tugging repeatedly on her hand. "We were just playing. They were just tarts. Annie really shouldn't get so upset over them."

"Her Majesty," Mad corrected, knowing full well they learnt their familiarity and disrespect from herself but wishing they'd act proper regardless. She was very much of a contrary character.

"Please, Mad, don't chastise us," Dum cajoled as well, arms wrapped tight around her waist while his chin rested on her side, gazing up adorably into her face. "We can't help it, you know. It's really the cook's fault for posting all those guards around them all the time. It only makes us want them more."

"And besides, we framed the Knave for it all. Set it up all perfectly so—_Her Majesty_—stupid Annie would think he done it and get punished. He'd deserve a good beheading, the git; you've said so yourself."

"Don't call him that." Yet Mad ran her free hand through Dum's hair and interlaced the fingers of her other with Dee's affectionately, enquiring lightly, "And so please explain why loves, if you set up the Knave for the crime, did Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse get locked up with a sentence of public execution?"

The boys laughed heartlessly, explaining together without the slightest symptom of remorse, "Because we framed them for the framing."

Mad cocked her eyebrow in curiousity.

"Well, _we_ weren't going to let ourselves be caught," Dee rationalized as if it were the only logical conclusion. "She'd have our necks quicker than a heartbeat, she would. You know she's been looking for any excuse to do away with us."

"Cause she thinks us miscreants."

"And our mischief malicious."

"So we made sure any traces left in the framing of the Knave led back to those three."

"We originally planned on framing the framing on _you_, cause you'd be let off of course, but everyone knows you don't like tarts."

"Since you are."

"And aren't a cannibal."

"And we'd've set up Cheshire, but he goes on disappearing without a trace, it'd be a giveaway if we left one for him."

"So you see, it had to be them, Mad."

Mad couldn't express an air more proud than a mother flouting her offspring's brilliance to a neighbor spawning complete sods.

"Dum, Dee, hand me a knife. I left mine with Alice and I need something to punish you with."

"_Mad_~" the two whined, "We don't wanna. Can't you just let it go this once? _Mad_." One would think at such callous disregard for their wellbeing and willingness to inflict pain the Tweedle Twins would back away from her. But the two only clung to her more, searching her pitiless face for any evidence of relent. She only continued to beam down at them in that all too pleasant manner, persisting, "Hand me a knife, boys."

Seeing as she had no intent of letting them off, Dee burst out, "Time passed here."

This did it. Mad froze for a moment, stiff, stunned, coming up short. The boys continued to peer into her face and endeavor to decipher what was to come next. Her next words were simpler than they had anticipated. "Forwards or backwards?"

"Forwards," Dum replied. "Always forwards."

"I'll do it, you know," Mad whispered, relaxing her position and speaking as if resuming an old, ongoing dialogue. "I'll get back lost Time. And when I do-" She paused, as though the plan hadn't proceeded any further and she had just come to the crossroads of a choice of action. "And once I do, he'll be mine again. Time will be brought back, and I'll be able to keep him, the one I lost. I'll bring it back; I'll get him back."

The boys glanced at each other, alarmed.

"Mad, aren't we enough for you?"

"Mad, don't you love us?"

She glanced down at them as if she hadn't noticed they'd been there the whole time, as if the conversation had been rhetorical and she hadn't expected a response. Mad slipped her hand from Dee's and ruffled both their hair playfully, answering, "Oh boys, I don't love anybody." And she leaned down to kiss both lightly on the tops of their heads, breathing secretively into their hair, "But I hate you least of all."

She strolled away, leaving them alone in the middle of that terrible forest they oughtn't be in at all.


	6. All That Matters

**A/N: For anyone curious, this story has been altered from it's original format as a legitimate dream into the shape it retains now, which is the very reason why chapters vary in length drastically, though all by common measure short. It's difficult to force the phantasmal into solid forms, and so I leave off when a logical shift in the nature of the tale occurs. My sincerest apologies if this style frustrates you. Having that been said, reviews are verily appreciated, even criticism.**

"_W__ho are you?"_

"It's nice to see you too, Caterpillar."

Caterpillar lounged leisurely in tranquil repose upon a curious bed of large, corpulent mushrooms, smoking his hookah with a nonchalance to rival even that of Mad's insouciant mien. Peculiar shapes, forms, and figures danced within the writhing, coiling smoke slipping serpentine from his mouth; images depicting what was and has passed, what may come, and what never will. He hardly glanced in her direction or paid her any mind, his gaze directionless as he simply repeats dreamily, "_Who are you?_"

"I'm Mad, of course."

"Of course you're mad," he repeated offhand, insisting, "but _who are you_?"

Mad, far from being frustrated from the repetition and roundabout exchange, merely murmured guileless and without any intent at evasion, "I'm here. Isn't that all that matters?"

In answer he continued smoking his pipe in a slow, thoughtful manner. Mad knew by his immediate meditational reflection that her forthright response was correct, or at least sufficient to proceed with her own line of queries. But believing it ill-mannered to jump directly to what she wanted, instead began in a solicitous manner, "How much have you been consuming?"

Caterpillar, quite her equal in stature with even a few legs to spare, chortled in a contemptible sort of manner, utterly disregarding her enquiry into his state of health. Seeming rather offended at her concern and though never having been distinctly turned towards her person, he now leaned to face away and stare off into the opposite bit distance markedly.

"You know there's nasty side-effects if overused, don't you?" Receiving no response in either movement or expression, Mad sighed. "All right then. Are they ready at least? I still have some in store that could hold out for a bit; it'd be such a waste to collect them before they've fully matured."

"They are as potent as their nature dictates them to be, as it dictates us all to be," he replied cryptically. The twisting smoke curled into visions of massive darkness eclipsing three figures, an indistinct shadowy form stalking forward, of female forms moving towards each other or apart, and—for a moment—something like a portion of a beating, bleeding heart. The images drifted off as quickly as they came, rapidly replaced by the myriad of indistinguishable ones that thrashed, spiraled, and wafted abstractly into the sky.

She smiled, "Thank you", and began collecting those ingredients needed to create her concoctions. After filling some well hidden pockets in the folds of her skirt with what was required, she slipped out a handsomely wrapped package just large enough to fit the palm of her hand and laid it on the principal mushroom he reclined upon. When he glanced down at the gift, Mad was already strolling away along the path, unresponsive to his final call, "_Who are you?_"


	7. Breathless

Alice was not doing her office.

It was late into the evening, a charming day spent delightfully in such a manner that only the most agreeable companion might bestow. As Alice was to keep a watch on him, they spoke of everything and nothing and with little of consequence and any importance being at length dwelt upon. Alice, eager to communicate anything her listener might have an inclination to hear, obliged him in that he had no serious inclination to learn anything yet was determined to be pleased with anything she'd have a preference to express. So the chief of it was spent in anxious expression of trifling information on the one hand and excessive awkward gallantry on the other, upon the whole proving quite a promising start for any sort of couple.

But as it reached a point within the evening where it would be rather more pleasant than proper to continue their whole day's tête-à-tête, the two parted ways reluctant on both sides. As Alice prepared for bed, he took it upon himself to tour this strange place he had happened upon by wandering out-of-doors for a night's stroll without any person to accompany him. As he noticed the threatening aspect of the immediate garden had increased within the successive gloom brought about by the pale, haunting gleams cast by the brilliance of the near full moon, he decided a quaint amble in the opposite direction would be more in accordance with his tastes. It did happen to seem rather odd in how evident the great expanse of the estate must certainly be that the impression received was that he'd come to its end rather sudden.

He walked about in an indistinct wilderness, an opening of sorts where nothing obtruded into his view for a great length of space and time. But it did so happen that quaint cottages or stately mansions were happened upon after some length of distance or another. All seemed quiet and dormant, as if all occupants had fallen asleep ages ago as well as any servants that would attend them. But as the moon's illumination and his own company were sufficient enough for such a walk as this, he felt no pressing need to turn back round to whence he came. At lengths he came upon a curious clock tower that at first appeared to be erected curiously in the middle of nowhere, but on a closer examination within the ruins of what once must have been a town. As beyond led only into the depths of a dubious bit of woodland and he had no feelings of weariness, he thought it rather interesting to have a look about the building and explore the stories of it.

After a great succession of stairways leading him up to and passed a good number of floors, he reached the uppermost level where he might best view the inner workings of the clock. Unfortunately, he was quite distracted from that regard as he was given quite a start from the first object of his gaze.

Mad was leaning pleasantly against the opposite wall, an alarming grin on her face, hovering indifferently over a young gentleman strewn upon the floor. Even at such a distance, he could tell.

It was a corpse.

Her laughter resounded about the room ominously and in such a style as left the hairs at the nape of his neck no way to avoid standing upon end. Mad had noticed him almost as soon as he had spotted her. "Well hello, Morpheus." Her laughter—her blatant disregard for the body lying lifeless beneath her—unnerved him. "You look unwell. What in heavens must Alice have put you through to make your face so—pallid? Why, you look as though you've seen a ghost!"

"Wh-what," he stammered out to his surprise, "are you doing here?"

Mad laughed, flipping a blade playfully in her hand. "I've just been killing Time."

His already pale face blanched and his foot took an instinctive step back.

"Oh, don't be such a prude. Everyone does it, now don't they?" She snickered as she slid her back down the wall, knees tucked up and arching over the corpse beneath her. "I'm sure even the high and mighty Morpheus has found himself alone on a particular Tuesday evening with nothing better to do than kill Time. Haven't you?"

He made no answer, staring in horror at the gentleman lying motionless upon the floor.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Mad simpered. For a moment he thought he saw her expression slip into something more serious as she looked down fixedly into the face, leaning over and closer. "Because Time's always been my favourite. . ."

The knife slipped from between Mad's fingers in a clatter upon the floor. In a startling moment, Time's eyes flashed open and his chest arcs upwards as he abruptly gasps, as if searching for breath but instead finding and meeting Mad's lips.


	8. A Summoning

"Morpheus. Morpheus, wake up," a gentle yet urgent voice coaxed as hands rhythmically pushed at his shoulder, slightly rocking him back and forth. "Oh do wake up now. We shall be too late, you know."

Following the prompting of the push he rolled over to his side, asking rather groggily, "Too late for what?"

He could just make out the hazy form of a young lady hovering anxiously over him, but he knew right as rain that the figure belonged to his Alice. Her voice was sweet, dulcet even, yet pleading, "The Queen, the Queen! She's summoned us to appear. Oh, do get up. She's sure to have all our heads, you know. We must be quick now."

Seeing as the pretty thing was beginning to work herself up to quite a serious fret-adorable as it was-he sat himself upright in bed in compliance, assuring with nearly sincere alacrity, "I'll be out in just a moment."

Alice, seeming to take him at his word, granted him a satisfied smile, her chocolate eyes warm as she quietly slipped out the room, shutting the door soundless behind her.

He took this opportunity of being alone to survey his surroundings. He was in a charming, albeit simple, guest quarters, with no more than a closet, a dresser that appeared to serve past occupants as a desk, a chair, and the bed he currently occupied. He possessed no recollection of this room whatsoever, but seeing as there were quite a lot of things he could not recall, he didn't pay much mind to it. His head at the present moment was too pleasantly full of his Alice, was attempting to suppress something rather unpleasant, and was busy being put to use in his quickly standing up and grabbing the shirt hanging haphazardly off the back of the chair and the trousers off the seat of it, hurriedly putting both on. After successfully having fully dressed, splashed his face with cool water from the basin left on the would-be-desk dresser, and been assured he looked half-way presentable by way of conveniently placed looking-glass, he stepped out of his room and made his way, quite bewilderedly with a decent sum of wrong turns, into the drawing room where Alice oddly seemed to have just entered and a white rabbit attired in all the prominent fashion of a gentleman along with his attending servant were waiting for him.

Before he could manage to stammer out a proper apology, he was interrupted by Rabbit, "You're _late_! You've made us all quite late!"

At this the would-be gentleman took out his pocket-watch from his waist-coat pocket and looked at it determinedly for dramatic effect but with not intention of being informed of anything he did not believe he already knew. But his pink eyes couldn't help but catch sight of it's function, and the hour, minute, or second could not be made out with all the hands going every which way, jarring to a halt, then switching directions without rhyme, reason, or method. Still he continued his chiding vehemently as he replaced it back into his waist-coat, "Exceedingly late indeed! I shall be surprised if she doesn't demand all our heads upon arrival! Oh my ears and whiskers, Marry Anne! Where in heavens have you put my fan and kid gloves?!"

The serving maid, who all the while had remained expressionless and silent through the whole, took a single step forward at being so addressed. She was a pretty sort of girl, to be sure. She had not the gentleness of expression or the warmth of manner as did Alice, nor the energetic, commanding presence of Mad. But there was still just enough of that particular something present in her air and manner of carrying herself. She had strawberry-blonde hair setting off forget-me-not eyes. Her face was handsome, with character defined in its lines. Her build was pleasing and her movements fluid. She'd hardly stirred, still as an undisturbed pond, but her following motion was as easeful as a flowing downhill brook. And yet-

And yet there was that something beneath the surface of the ferocity of a raging river or sea at storm. For although she carried herself with the characteristic deferential and subservient manner of a servant, there was a stubbornness in her bearing, a darkening superiority in her brilliant eyes, a haughtiness in the slight tilt of her chin.

"It's in your other pocket, sir," she answered in a quiet, tepid voice as her hands slipped familiarly between his clothes and into the inside of his jacket and out again, holding out the items for her master to reacquire.

As shocked at such a public show of familiarity from a serving girl as he was, he thought it must be of common occurrence as Rabbit made no attempt at rebuke or discipline. Without seeming to mind her at all, he merely snatched his things back and briskly made his way to the door, fanning himself rapidly. "Well, come along then! We ought not have kept Her Majesty waiting a moment longer over such trifles."

He followed right after Mary Anne and Alice, who hurriedly attempted to catch up to the strides of the gentleman rabbit before them.

_(Incomplete)_


	9. A Poem

Don't start

Once you start you can't seem to stop

Much like a shattered mirror

Even the broken pieces still reflect him in the shards

Who simply walked away with the larger parts

Don't start

Once you start everyone'll know

And it's that much harder to let it all go

Much like a drowning swimmer

Finally breaking the surface of water

Struggling to breathe

You're visibly wet and gasping

Don't start

Try to swallow them down

Much like bile rising to your throat

Force them back to the pit of your stomach and clench tight

Holding together with all of your might

Don't let them reach your eyes


End file.
